Dead Silence
by evoix
Summary: With the help of Smoke and some vodka, Mute finally works up the courage to talk to Twitch. Short & fluffy.


The workshop was filled with operators, hard at work with their respective gadgets, but oddly enough, the room was completely quiet. Hell, even Jordan was hard at work in nigh silence, save for the occasional curse when he burned himself.

"You need to get some gloves, Jordan." Emmanuelle's voice was a stark contrast to the previous silence hanging in the air. Her gaze was still fixated on her signature drone as she prodded at its electronic components with a pair of pliers.

"Gloves are bulky, and the little latex ones won't do anything. This is precision chemistry, Pichon."

"Since when has anyone ever used the words 'Jordan' and 'precision' in the same sentence?"

"You just did." Jordan gave her a self-satisfied grin.

"Touche, Trace," the woman said with a laugh, eliciting a soft sigh from Mark, inaudible to all but him. He _loved_ Emmanuelle's laugh. He was fond of everything about her, and it was slowly killing him from the inside out that he lacked the guts to talk to her. He'd worked with her on missions. He'd even collaborated with her on certain projects. He'd conducted performance reviews with and on her, and they'd even interviewed Chul together when he was applying, but every attempt he made to make small talk ended embarrassingly, either with her walking away after a curt reply, or with him stuttering pathetically, if not a horrid combination of both.

"That's a fine piece of baguette ass right there," James said, not quite quietly enough, leaning in close to Mark.

Mark was startled by his presence, and wondered how he could sneak up on him so fast. However, he was more annoyed with the comment he'd made, and the look that Monika had given the two upon hearing it.

"Fuck off, Porter."

"Oh, come on, Mark, I just want to help ya."

"Really?" Mark feigned enthusiasm.

"Of course, mate."

"Then fuck off." The taller man stood up from the chair he was previously working at and made his way to his dorm, which he, unfortunately, shared with the shorter Brit following him. Mark tried his best to simply ignore him, but the incessant footsteps and the shit-eating grin he knew he had on his face became too much to bear.

"What do you want, James?" Mark wheeled around, crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Exactly what I said back there. I want to help ya." He sounded genuine enough, but Mark knew the man better than that.

"What do you mean 'help me'?" Mark questioned him, trying to find out whatever motive he had. Money? Power? Sex? James was always rather ambiguous.

"Help you with Pichon. As funny as it is, even I get sick of your cringy attempts at flirting." James followed the other Brit into their dorm, sitting at opposite sides of the small round table they called their dining room. He was starting to get pissed at the way Mark was playing dumb.

"What do you think you can do to help me? Unlike you, I want something _more_ than being in her pants."

"But you would want to be in her pants, wouldn't ya?" James grinned from ear to ear at the other man's red-faced reaction.

"Fuck's sake, cut to the chase, James." Mark rubbed the bridge of his nose, mimicking someone with a headache. He might not have had one in his skull, but there was definitely one sitting across from him.

"Alright. What is Pichon doing all the time?"

"I dunno," Mark sighed, resting his chin on his hand, which was propped up on the table.

"Oh, bull _shit_ you don't know, you been makin' goo-goo eyes at the broad 24/7 since ya joined."

Mark sighed once more, giving in to the short man's ceaseless prodding. "Working, I guess."

"On?" James spun his finger in a circular motion, urging Mark to continue.

"Her drone."

"Bingo! You get her talkin' about her shock drone, you'll be havin' a conversation for hours! Before you know it, it'll be late, you'll get a little tipsy, and…"

"Stop yourself." There was finality in Mark's voice as he gave James a stern glare.

"Well, you get the point, right?" James seemed rather sincere, contrasting with his typical prankster personality. _Does he really want to help?_

Mark shrugged, defeated. "Can't hurt to try," he said, mostly to himself.

"Remember, mate, I've got your back." James put his hand on Mark's shoulder, and gave his upper arm a light, friendly punch. The younger man even mustered a smile as James got up and left, leaving Mark to plan out how he would approach this. He rested his head on his forearms. _It's going to be a long day._

* * *

Mark walked through the halls with the confident yet faux stride of a man with a plan.

"I'm good. I'm cool. I got this." He was mainly talking to himself, but Craig heard him anyway.

"Got what, jammer man?"

"Shut the fuck up, Craig!" Mark snapped, every muscle in his body tensing simultaneously as he hissed. Craig recoiled with a shocked look on his face, and Mark apologized. "I'm sorry. Don't mind me, I'm just...nervous." He intentionally left out specific details. Getting the hint, Craig nodded and they both went their separate ways.

' _Got this' my ass._ Mark shook his head as he continued walking. _But there's no turning back now._

Passing through the door into the workshop, he looked around. The workshop was relatively empty now, with most operators at lunch. Its only occupatns were Masaru, Emmanuelle, and...James. He wasn't working, only sitting there, giving a smug yet encouraging look to the other Brit. He rolled his eyes and starting making his way towards Emmanuelle, but his footsteps became slower, with more and more hesitation between them as pangs of dread hit him. Eventually, after taking much longer than he should have, he arrived at the table Emmanuelle was working at. He very slowly sat down, nearly shaking with anxiety. He had made it ninety percent of the way; all he had to do now was say something. Anything.

No words came out. He just sat there, tense, not knowing what to say. All the plans he had spent hours making earlier fell apart and rid themselves from his mind. Beads of sweat were forming on his forehead now. _Say something! Anything! For fuck's sake, Mark!_

"You okay, Mark?"

His gaze shifted rapidly from the table to Emmanuelle, her voice snapping him out of his trance. He simply looked at her, panic in his wide eyes, before curtly speaking.

"I...I should go."

He swiftly stood up and made his way to the exit, attempting to keep his composure as well as he could. Before he went through the doorway, he turned around briefly. Emmanuelle had resumed work on her shock drone, and James had a look that he'd never seen on his face before. Concern. He turned forward and went to his dorm, locking himself in there for the rest of the day.

* * *

It was only nine o'clock, but most everyone was already beyond plastered, Mark included. He had already drank himself under the table on a bottle of Polish vodka gifted to him by Ela. It was expensive, so Mark assumed it was good, but he was hammered beyond taste at this point. He almost felt bad for drinking it so quickly, but he felt worse about how his pathetic attempt at conversation with Emmanuelle went earlier.

Everyone else was partying in celebration of Maxim's birthday, with the Spetsnaz taking part in a particularly rowdy game of strip poker. Maxim had lost his shirt, Timur was still fully dressed, Alexsandr was reduced to his boxers, Lera was on the verge of losing her bra but was drunk beyond caring, and Shuhrat had quit once he lost his pants. Mark simply watched it all from a distance, trying hard to keep himself hidden. He watched a chicken fight between Jack and Eliza versus Jordan and Miles. There was an arm wrestle between Adriano and Craig, with Aria, Ela and Valkyrie all watching. Zofia was talking with Siu, both of whom were still sober, and Gustave was trying to draw a penis on a passed-out Olivier's face, until Gilles and Julien practically dragged him away. Most of the others were either playing pool or watching the Russians' strip poker game, and amongst it all, he noticed someone was missing. _Where's-_

"Hey, Mark." There was a compassion in James' voice that Mark wasn't quite used to hearing, but it was definitely welcomed.

"Hey." Mark's voice was low, and he didn't make eye contact with the other man.

"Hope you're not beating yourself up too much. Things'll come with time."

"Yeah, I guess." Mark sighed. James was right; he just needed to clear his mind. "I'm gonna go unwind for a bit." He stood up, attempting to grab the vodka bottle to take it with him, until James snatched it away and replaced it with his unopened beer.

"Yeah, no. You're hammered enough already, mate."

Mark gave him a sharp, amused exhale and a soft smile. "Thanks, James. For everything today."

"Well, what are friends for," he shrugged.

Mark stumbled up the stairs, past the dorms, and out onto the roof. It was his happy place; an area where he could be alone, with no distractions. He was the only one who ever came up there, because he technically wasn't allowed to. Or so he thought.

When he opened the door outside, Emmanuelle was there, leaning against the railing holding a beer. Mark contemplated his next move. He definitely didn't want to go back down to the party. If he went to his dorm, he would empty his liquor cabinet, which also was far from ideal. He wasn't fond of spending the evening with Emmanuelle, either, especially given their painfully awkward encounter.

Before he could decide, he heard Emmanuelle's voice. "Hey," she greeted, looking back at him over her shoulder. For whatever reason, he thought she looked exceptionally beautiful that night, the way the cool breeze tugged at strands of her brown hair.

After his slow and drunk train of thought caught up with reality, he jolted a bit with surprise. "Oh, uh...hi." He was stammering, unsure of whether it was nervousness or the alcohol. Probably both. "Um, I can go...if you want…"

"No, no, you're fine. Besides, it's nice to be able to talk to someone without having to talk to everyone, you know?" Emmanuelle's voice put him at ease a little. There was a certain peace of mind that came from her not immediately going back to what happened earlier, though the thought itself still bugged him.

"I guess," he said, walking to the rail, leaning on the spot next to her. After a long moment of comfortable silence, Mark finally spoke. It felt strange to be the one to initiate a conversation, especially with Emmanuelle, but it felt good. "So what are you doing up here?"

"Oh, I just needed to get away from it all," she sighed. "It's so hectic down there, especially with all the shit going on between Gus and Olivier...I just needed to relax." She took a sip of her beer.

"Huh. I never really imagined you to be the one to need to 'get away from it all'. You always seem to have things under control." It took him a while to realize he was speaking aloud the thoughts that were meant for himself.

"Well, what about you? You typically seem pretty calm."

"Oh, God, Emmanuelle, I'm a fuckin' mess," Mark blurted, hanging his head. She gave him a puzzled expression.

"What do you mean?"

"Emma...is it alright if I call you that?"

"Yeah. I prefer it, actually."

"Alright. Emma...I came up here because I got plastered on vodka because I'm a coward." He took a long swig of beer.

"What?" she laughed. "You're a member of the goddamn SAS, that's pretty brave by anyone's standards."

Mark let out a heavy sigh, and Emmanuelle softened her expression. "I wanted to talk to you earlier. In the workshop. I just couldn't muster up the courage to do it. I can pump terrorists full of lead without breaking a sweat, but for the love of God I can't talk to women." He broke out into suppressed laughter at the last sentence, but Emmanuelle maintained her composure.

"Well, maybe we should hang out sometime. _Outside_ of work. No other people, no stress, just...us." Her last word instilled a warm feeling inside of Mark.

"I'd like that," he smiled. They spent a long time standing there, looking out at the starry sky before them.

"It's beautiful out, isn't it?" Emmanuelle remarked, staring up into the violet abyss above.

"Sure is," Mark replied. "It's a big universe out there."

"Millions and millions of miles," her voice trailed off. "Makes you realize how close we really are." She turned to look at him, a warm smile on her face. He turned towards her and gave her the same smile.

"I guess it does," his gaze returned to the sky. "I'm glad there's people like you to share this tiny world with."

"Yeah." She slowly rested her head against his arm. He jumped slightly at the touch, but eventually eased. They spent the rest of the night without words, simply in awe at the sight before them.

In dead silence.


End file.
